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It's been a while. In dog whiles it's been a very long while. A very, very long while.
It's true there have been many changes and areas of growth and death.
PB&G fell to the wayside, slowly dying the quiet death of a marvelous star when it reached the age to become something else. This was, I must say, quite a blow to me and there are pockets (no pun intended) of anger that still flare occasionally about that. There's no blame here. I think the time had come, as it always does for legends such as this, to be relegated to the land of myth and 'that was such a marvelous time'.
The same can be said for the Bruzi legend and the run of QG, which oddly, seemed to coincide with the run of PB&G. Maybe it's time for acronyms to find their place and go there. There's anger and hurt there, too, to a lesser degree. Really though, the difference between losing an arm and a splinter in a finger means nothing to the person experiencing it at the time. Ask any 2 year old. so... the answer to accepting pain may be maturity. Don't ask me, because I ain't quite there yet.
And I got married. Big step, much bigger than a "Mother may I" step. Something I swore I'd never do, considering that I find most people difficult to deal with anyway. And, before I got married, I got divorced. And I don't care what platitudes are said or the "About damn times", the process still carried it's load of guilt. Cuz that's how I roll. I don't like hurting those that I love. Who does, really?
Oh and I moved! It takes me almost an hour to drive from home to work, which means it takes almost an hour to drive from work to home, interestingly enough. This meant that pub nights, those nights where I could say the things that fell out of my head without much repercussion had to, by necessity, end. Pub nights, where my life re-started and regrew. That place where stories were born and laughter created universes faded from my life. Not entirely gone, mind you. Just not something a worn out old fart who loves to be with his wife chooses to do.
And it is my choice, you see. Shannon knows of my connection with that place and space and time and sometimes encourages me to stay and play. I'd just... rather not. I'd rather get home before midnight and listen to her day and talk about mine. Since she works a full day and more in a nursing home doing physical therapy, I do not ask her to come join me, although there have been times that she has done so. And that was back when she, as well, had more time. We've both found more demanding positions, so I work something like 10 to 11 hours and Shannon works somewhere between 8 and 10 hours.
So my choice was to focus on the family that was growing, rather than the family that was fading. And it has been fading for about a year. Granted, there are still those folks, bless them, that go and drink and talk and laugh, and I feel the regularity has diminished in all of them. In another year, pub night may be no more, dying that same legendary death as PB&G and QG.
And my mom passed away. That woman of fuzzy legend, who could be both marvelous and terrible at the same time, died. This is important. She was and still is, the birth of my mind and imagination. She gave to me the ability to see past the veil and look at those things that lie undiscovered. And she is gone. In fact, she had been gone, that mother I knew who fostered this tiny brain into a multi-dimensional traveler, she had been gone for a very long time, at least in spirit and heart. Still, the lose of the physical body is something I've yet to completely deal with.
What all this change did... because change is not something I really treasure, is cripple my creativity. And yes, I know I've written stuff like this before, and if I'm repeating it again, it's more for my benefit than anyone else's. I want to purge and everytime I write a bit more of the pain and frustration and blockages out of me.
I'm working my way back to the world. Because I want to write. and I've been trying to write. It's just that the ideas die on the vine before they reach my fingers.
You realize that anytime someone says "It's just that..." they are setting up for an excuse, right?
so here I am, writing. Working my way back to the world. And now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go deliver a Scruni.
It's true there have been many changes and areas of growth and death.
PB&G fell to the wayside, slowly dying the quiet death of a marvelous star when it reached the age to become something else. This was, I must say, quite a blow to me and there are pockets (no pun intended) of anger that still flare occasionally about that. There's no blame here. I think the time had come, as it always does for legends such as this, to be relegated to the land of myth and 'that was such a marvelous time'.
The same can be said for the Bruzi legend and the run of QG, which oddly, seemed to coincide with the run of PB&G. Maybe it's time for acronyms to find their place and go there. There's anger and hurt there, too, to a lesser degree. Really though, the difference between losing an arm and a splinter in a finger means nothing to the person experiencing it at the time. Ask any 2 year old. so... the answer to accepting pain may be maturity. Don't ask me, because I ain't quite there yet.
And I got married. Big step, much bigger than a "Mother may I" step. Something I swore I'd never do, considering that I find most people difficult to deal with anyway. And, before I got married, I got divorced. And I don't care what platitudes are said or the "About damn times", the process still carried it's load of guilt. Cuz that's how I roll. I don't like hurting those that I love. Who does, really?
Oh and I moved! It takes me almost an hour to drive from home to work, which means it takes almost an hour to drive from work to home, interestingly enough. This meant that pub nights, those nights where I could say the things that fell out of my head without much repercussion had to, by necessity, end. Pub nights, where my life re-started and regrew. That place where stories were born and laughter created universes faded from my life. Not entirely gone, mind you. Just not something a worn out old fart who loves to be with his wife chooses to do.
And it is my choice, you see. Shannon knows of my connection with that place and space and time and sometimes encourages me to stay and play. I'd just... rather not. I'd rather get home before midnight and listen to her day and talk about mine. Since she works a full day and more in a nursing home doing physical therapy, I do not ask her to come join me, although there have been times that she has done so. And that was back when she, as well, had more time. We've both found more demanding positions, so I work something like 10 to 11 hours and Shannon works somewhere between 8 and 10 hours.
So my choice was to focus on the family that was growing, rather than the family that was fading. And it has been fading for about a year. Granted, there are still those folks, bless them, that go and drink and talk and laugh, and I feel the regularity has diminished in all of them. In another year, pub night may be no more, dying that same legendary death as PB&G and QG.
And my mom passed away. That woman of fuzzy legend, who could be both marvelous and terrible at the same time, died. This is important. She was and still is, the birth of my mind and imagination. She gave to me the ability to see past the veil and look at those things that lie undiscovered. And she is gone. In fact, she had been gone, that mother I knew who fostered this tiny brain into a multi-dimensional traveler, she had been gone for a very long time, at least in spirit and heart. Still, the lose of the physical body is something I've yet to completely deal with.
What all this change did... because change is not something I really treasure, is cripple my creativity. And yes, I know I've written stuff like this before, and if I'm repeating it again, it's more for my benefit than anyone else's. I want to purge and everytime I write a bit more of the pain and frustration and blockages out of me.
I'm working my way back to the world. Because I want to write. and I've been trying to write. It's just that the ideas die on the vine before they reach my fingers.
You realize that anytime someone says "It's just that..." they are setting up for an excuse, right?
so here I am, writing. Working my way back to the world. And now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go deliver a Scruni.